Indisposed
by MarblePeace
Summary: Holmes is sick and irritable; he gives Watson a hard time. This is slash.


**A/N**: I was feeling kind of sick one weekend and this was created. Random, I know. I ended up dedicating it to a friend. c: Hope you all enjoy.

* * *

"How are you?"

"Not much better," Holmes replied, a cough following soon after.

"Hmm..."

Watson approached the detective and without warning placed his hand on his forehead. Holmes flinched noticeably and Watson withdrew, looking at him with concern, "What?"

"Your hands are cold," Holmes gasped.

Watson only rolled his eyes and tried again. He kept it there for a few moments before stating his discovery.

"You still have a fever."

Holmes looked at the other, his expression unreadable, "_Really?_" he said with sarcasm.

Watson returned the look with a hint of sourness, "Oh, hush."

Holmes was always in something of a soiled mood when he was feeling sickly; Watson found that the only way to cope with it was to counteract it and return the attitude.

However, the only factor that seemed nearly impossible to overcome was his will to disobey. Whatever was asked of him, he would refuse; no matter how simple or helpful the task was.

Watson braced himself.

"You need to eat."

"No," Holmes said simply, rolling over in the bed and hiding himself under the blankets.

"Do not start," Watson warned, pulling the covers back.

"Leave me be!"

"I mustn't! To recover your health, you need a decent meal. You have not had anything in over twelve hours. ...a minuscule sip of tea, that is about it."

"Gah!" Holmes somewhat protested, nestling deeper into his pillow. "Why do you care, anyway?" came a muffled inquiry.

That was the last question Watson expected to hear.

"I'm not going to answer that. Now sit tight; I am going to help Ms. Hudson prepare you a meal."

Holmes's head rocketed skywards and he whirled around to protest but his doctor was already out the door.

"Son of a-" he finished with an agitated groan. "He can waste his time. Be my guest," Holmes spat, sinking into the cushions.

He awoke it seemed like an hour later, to Watson gently nudging him. The feverish detective reluctantly opened his eyes to find the other's face right above his. He started slightly and sighed, "What?"

Watson presented a tray of food beside Holmes on the bed, "Bon appetite'".

Holmes looked at the tray. It consisted of breakfast food, despite the afternoon hour. Ham and eggs with a side of toast and fruit sat proudly on the tray, along with glasses of water and orange juice.

He glared at Watson who looked back at him firmly.

"I am not eating that."

"Oho, yes you are."

"I don't believe you grasp the concept of how I am not hungry. "

"The only concept I am willing to grasp at the moment is how your health is low and you are not helping it. Now, at the least, all I ask is that you eat a piece of toast and a piece of fruit, along with two large sips of water AND the orange juice. At the least, Holmes. Do that for me."

Holmes stared at the doctor for a few moments before replying lengthily, "No."

Watson blinked nearly defeatedly at this. All he wanted to do was enjoy his weekend but Holmes was giving him a difficult time.

"Mm... If that is indeed how you are going to go about it, then I will just have you move you on your own. You are in my bed, after all."

Holmes looked up at Watson then, a hint of pain in his eyes, which took Watson off guard for a moment.

"This is our bed," Holmes said quietly.

_Damn you._

"Not anymore unless you comply," Watson surprisingly dared.

Holmes locked his gaze on his companion with an unreadable expression. Keeping his hold, he blindly but accurately secured a piece of sliced apple from the fruit bowl on the tray and placed the entire piece in his mouth, chewing slowly.

Watson did nothing, only returned the gaze that was holding him under arrest. He watched as Holmes finally looked away to consume a portion of the water; then the orange juice.

"Toast?" Watson bravely broke the silence.

Holmes shook his head and laid down, turning his back to Watson. The doctor smiled triumphantly and chuckled to himself, bending over the bed to remove the tray. He laid it on the floor and closed the door quietly before approaching the bed again.

"Move over."

Holmes quietly did so and Watson climbed into the bed. He laid on his back and closed his eyes, one arm outstretched to stroke Holmes's hair. Holmes kept his back towards Watson but slowly inched over until he was pressed against him.

Watson smiles and shakes his head. He had won.


End file.
